


A Christmas Special

by spacehopper



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Beholding Kink (The Magnus Archives), Christmas Fluff, Collars, Dom Jonathan Sims, Dom/sub, Fluff, Impact Play, Jon is Santa, M/M, Martin is an elf, Minor canon divergence, Santa Roleplay, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Sexual Roleplay, Spanking, Sub Martin Blackwood, minor reindeer play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:35:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28299060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacehopper/pseuds/spacehopper
Summary: Jon relives his amateur theater glory days, and makes Martin’s Christmas roleplay dreams come true.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54
Collections: The Magnus Intermission: A Weekly Hiatus Prompt Fest





	A Christmas Special

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt Passing Time, and inspired by discussion about Martin suggesting Christmas themed roleplay to Jon, and Jon getting super into it because he used to do amateur theater.
> 
> Also, I'm handwaving this as an AU where they're still at the safehouse at Christmas. Maybe they managed to avoid the ritual statement, or maybe Elias decided to wait and see how the play went. :D

Martin carefully pushed the buttplug in, then glanced at the clock.

“Fuck,” he said, shooting a look at the still closed door before sitting up and getting to his feet.

He winced and leaned against the wardrobe for a moment, trying to adjust to the rather larger than expected plug. Not that he couldn’t take it, but it did require more prep. Prep that’d made him later than he was supposed to be, though he supposed that would hopefully play into the narrative. He shivered, and pushed himself away from the wardrobe and back towards the bed. If it earned him a little extra punishment, well, that was what he’d asked for, wasn’t it?

The costume they’d picked up at the charity shop in the village sat unopened on the bed, and Martin tore into it eagerly. He pulled on the tunic first, the cheap fabric clinging to his sweat damp skin and doing little to conceal his rather prominent erection. Another thing for Jon to punish, maybe. Martin’s lips twitched, and he reached for the leggings.

When he held them up, his heart dropped. There was no way they’d fit. They looked like they’d been mixed up, a relic from a costume for a much smaller person. Christ, he hoped Jon wasn’t too disappointed. He’d been so excited when they’d found the costume.

He slid on the slippers, which were the size they claimed to be, and poked his nose out the door to find Jon staring at him from his place of honor on the sofa.

“Are you trying to anger me further?” Jon said.

Martin swallowed hard, his cock jumping when Jon’s expression failed to crack. Even with Jon’s more eclectic outfit, he managed to be intimidating, the scarlet dressing gown seeming almost regal on him. On his head sat a holly crown Jon had insisted on making once he’d discovered a rather vibrant tree near the safehouse. And his grey flecked beard was the perfect touch to bring it all together, making Jon look older and harder, and Martin a bit weak in the knees.

A pity he was going to have to ruin it now, but they could give it another go. He stepped out of the room, holding the leggings in front of him sheepishly as he walked over to Jon.

“I guess we should’ve checked before we bought it? Because there’s no way this’ll fit.”

Jon’s brows came together briefly, before his expression cleared.

“Elf,” he said imperiously. “Did you neglect to care for your uniform?”

“Uh.” They hadn’t practiced this. “Yes?”

“I thought as much.” Jon glared at him; Martin’s stomach twisted pleasantly. “But I’ll require a demonstration, to be certain your assessment is correct. We don’t want any more wasted resources, with the deadline we’re on.”

“Erm. What?” Martin shook the leggings for emphasis. “They don’t fit, Jon. I really can’t put them on.”

“Father Christmas,” Jon barked, getting suddenly to his feet, standing on the crate they’d set up so he could tower over Martin. Then in a lower voice, he added, “Improvisation, Martin. I’ll admit, it’s not my area of expertise, but this seems like the perfect time to try it? Just do what I say, I know you won’t be able to get them on.”

“Oh, right. Right!” His teeth dug into his lip as he regarded the leggings, then glanced back at Jon, who’d settled himself back on the sofa. Maybe he could do a bit of improvisation of his own. And give Jon a hopefully more pleasant surprise.

He turned around slowly, and when Jon didn’t protest, bent over in a way that exposed his arse perfectly, the short tunic doing nothing to cover it anymore. When he dared a glance at Jon, he noticed Jon seemed to be holding his face very still, and when he met Martin’s eyes, brought his hand up to cover it as his shoulders shook. A grin spread across Martin’s face, and he gave his arse a vigorous shake. A rather festive jingle echoed in the quiet room.

“A deadline, Elf.” The words were followed by a light smack against Martin’s arse, and another jingle. “Get on with it.”

“Of course, Father Christmas. Right away.”

He stepped into the leggings, which as he’d expected barely went around his calves, trying to hold back his excitement as he turned to face Jon again.

“Another failure. I see I’ll need to apply more discipline. Come here.”

Martin began to step out of the leggings, only to be stopped by a hand suddenly gripping his wrist.

“Leave them on. As a marker of your, uh, your—” Jon licked his lips, staring at Martin desperately.

“My shame,” Martin added helpfully. “For disgracing the noble title of Elf.”

“Yes. Exactly. And put your shoes back on.”

Martin raised his eyebrows, and said under his breath as he put on the slippers, “Are you trying to make me look as ridiculous as possible?”

As soon as he had them on, Jon’s hand shot out, gripping his bicep and yanking him forward suddenly enough to make Martin yelp as his knees hit the sofa.

“Disrespectful. Tell me, Elf, do you believe we need to add to your punishment?”

“Yes, Jo—” A hand smacked across his cheek, making Martin gasp. “Yes, Father Christmas.”

“Good. At least you know what you deserve. Now, lie across my lap.”

Jon settled back against the cushions, looking at Martin expectantly. As good as he was at staying in character—far better than Martin—he still couldn’t quite hide the nervousness in his eyes, the crinkling at the corners that Martin knew was him holding back from asking for reassurance. Because he wanted to get this right. Christ, Martin loved this man.

“Elf,” Jon said, this time half a question as he returned Martin's soft look.

“I’m yours to command,” Martin replied, lying down across Jon’s lap, his still hard cock rubbing tantalizingly against Jon’s thigh.

“Good,” Jon said, yanking up what little bit of the tunic that still covered Martin’s arse. “Let’s begin.”

The first strike was light, almost teasing as Jon rubbed the spot fondly and Martin struggled not to squirm. Or maybe he should squirm? They’d talked about it in the rehearsals Jon had mandated, whether it was better for Martin’s character to be contrite and eager to please or resistant until Jon finally showed him the error of his ways. In the end, Jon told Martin to play it as a mix of the two, though he’d failed to explain what that was supposed to entail.

Maybe he should just react how felt best. It _was_ supposed to be fun, after all. Best not to overthink it. Especially since thinking was getting lower and lower on his list of priorities right now.

“I see you’ve properly adorned some parts of your body,” Jon said, giving the buttplug a pointed tug and jingling it loudly. Even without much force behind it, the sensation made Martin whimper as it shifted inside him.

“I wanted to get in the proper spirit of things,” Martin said, deciding to go with eager to please for now. “I know I’m not what you want, but I’d like to be.” He tried to crane his neck to look back at Jon, only to be stropped by fingers tangling in his hair, forcing his face against the cushions.

“We’ll see about that,” Jon said. “Now, how many do you think you need?”

“Twenty-five.” His voice was muffled by the cushion, his words muddled by a moan as Jon inserted a finger into his hole, spreading it further.

“Hmm.” Jon’s finger sunk in further, crooking to rub against Martin’s prostate, sending tingles through Martin’s nerves as he struggled not to rut again Jon’s leg. “Seasonally appropriate, certainly. But given you were not only late but also improperly attired, I’m not sure that will be enough.”

He gave Martin’s arse another light swat, making Martin jerk against Jon, forcing his finger deeper.

“No, I think the full date is required. To really drive the lesson home.”

Jon’s finger withdrew, but it wasn’t because he was done toying with Martin. A cheery jingle rang out as Jon gripped the plug again. He withdrew it slowly, stretching Martin’s hole wider until it hit the greatest greath. All through it Martin panted into the cushions, glad for the cover so that Jon couldn’t see the ridiculous faces he was probably making, even if he could hear each pathetically needy noise he was dragging from Martin’s lips, and feel the heavy heat of his cock.

When Jon failed to supply the new total, Martin realized he must want a response. “You’re not really going to make me do maths, are you?”

Jon’s finger ran along the rim of Martin’s hole, which clenched under the delicate touch, burning wonderfully.

“I suppose that’s beyond you, isn’t it? You’re not much use for anything but the purely physical, carrying the sacks of toys and such.” He gave the plug a rather pointed jingle. “And you’re not even really good at that.”

Before Martin could respond, Jon shoved the plug back into him, dragging wonderfully on his hole and sending such a wave of arousal through Martin he was surprised he didn’t come then and there. Probably for the best, because he didn’t expect—didn’t want—Jon to stop. He wanted to stay poised on the edge.

“Father Christmas, please, I—”

Jon’s hand came down again, cutting off Martin’s plea. Which was probably for the best, given anything Martin said would likely only increase his punishment.

Then again, maybe he should keep talking.

Before he could think of something suitably rebellious to say, Jon was speaking again, massaging one of Martin’s arse cheeks with entirely too clever fingers.

“Twenty-five. Twelve. Eighteen. And one more to make it an even number. Do you think you can handle that?”

Despite his earlier complaint, Martin quickly added it up in his head. That was a lot, but with his hand…honestly, Jon was as likely to wear out as Martin, once his own skin started smarting.

Fingers tightened in his hair, and Martin scrambled to get his arms under him, pushing his torso up like a rather daft looking seal as Jon dragged him towards his face. Then he did something they hadn’t rehearsed; he kissed Martin, beard rasping wonderfully against Martin’s cheek. It wasn’t a particularly good kiss, or a particularly long one, but it was exactly what Martin needed as Jon let him fall back down onto his lap.

“Perhaps if you’re very good, I’ll lighten your sentence. And if you’re very bad, well…” He dug his fingers into Martin’s rim. “We might have to see if there’s a better use for you.”

This time, Jon didn’t wait for an answer. There was barely any warning at all before the blows started to fall, quick and sharp against Martin’s arse. The initial flurry was too fast for him to keep count, spikes of pain spiraling through his body, making his cock throb and his balls tighten as arousal built. No, no, it was too soon. His fingers dug into the cushions as he tried to concentrate on his stinging skin, on how his hole clenched around the madly jingling plug, and not on his all too close orgasm.

When Jon stopped, it was only to get a hand between him and Martin, pulling a whimper from Martin as he fondled Martin’s cock and sighed heavily. Though Martin also noticed he shifted him a bit further down his legs; Martin wasn’t the only one struggling to keep it together.

“You need to wait for Father Christmas to come,” Jon said, leaning close to murmur in Martin’s ear as Martin struggled not to laugh. The line was one Jon had come up with himself. He’d looked so pleased with himself when he’d told Martin, even as he struggled to get the actual words out. Apparently, all that practice had helped, because this time the awful pun fell from his lips butter smooth. And with Jon’s voice, the effect was surprisingly erotic.

“Or what?” Martin dared, already knowing the answer.

“Then I’ll have to find other work for you.”

Martin lifted his head slightly to take a peek, in time to see Jon reaching for the makeshift reins lying across the back of the sofa in a rather drawn out fashion. He buried his face back in the cushions as Jon dragged the edge of one of the belts lightly across the back of his neck.

“But maybe there’s no need for that. Maybe you can make the nice list yet.”

Another smack fell almost lazily across Martin’s arse. “Tell me, what do you really want for Christmas?”

The words flowed easily from Martin’s lips, a torrent he couldn’t stop even as he felt Jon stiffen.

“I want you to rub your beard all over my skin, and my cock. I know you grew it for this and you think it’s annoying and it makes you look old, and it does. But that’s not a problem at all, because I’ve always had a thing for older men, I was actually a little disappointed when I found out we were the same age. That’s weird, I know, I mean liking older men isn’t, but I like you specifically, and is liking to pretend your boyfriend is older a proper thing?”

A hand clamped down over Martin’s mouth, and he realized Jon was trembling. That Martin was trembling, the feeling sparking across his skin almost like arousal, warm and languid and comforting and all the more terrifying and tantalizing for it.

“I’m so sorry, Martin. I didn’t mean to do that, I…”

Jon’s hand dropped away, and he shifted slightly, though he didn’t try to push Martin away. Paralyzed with guilt, probably, even as Martin floundered for a response. An accident, yes. One that should bother Martin, and yet as he licked his lips, he found there was only one thing he wanted.

“Do you want to ask me another question?” Martin said. Jon’s hand had fallen to the sofa cushion, and Martin covered it with one of his own. “Because you can, if you want.” More softly, he added, “Only if you want.”

“I—” Jon’s hand slid out from under Martin’s and gripped it tightly for a moment. “I know I can. I see you always. Watch you, know you in ways no one else can. That’s how I know how very, very naughty you are.” His words were accompanied by a hard whack against Martin’s arse cheek, accompanied by the familiar jingle.

“Maybe I need help. I’m so—so naughty?” He yelped as another hard smack came down, his cock throbbing hard as before against Jon’s thigh. Was he really going to do this? But now that the surge from the compulsion was fading, he found he wanted to see what it was like. To feel it again. “Definitely very naughty. But I know you’ll show me that guiding Christmas…star?”

He was pretty sure that was one of the lines Jon had written for him. Though it’d been hard to keep track with all the improvisation and rewrites. But hopefully if it was close, it’d reassure Jon that Martin really wanted to continue.

“Very well,” Jon said, sounding oddly hoarse. He cleared his throat. “Why do you like older men?”

Not the question Martin had expected, but he supposed he’d asked for it. The words fell from his lips as easily as before, though this time cut through with Jon’s hand bearing down on his increasingly tender arse.

“You know I—ah—I’m not sure? I guess I could go all deep rooted issues, my—my father leaving, wanting a replacement. Maybe that’s it. Or maybe it’s just there’s…oh, fuck…” Jon was tugging on the plug again, stretching Martin’s hole even as his hand came down hard again, the physical sensation heightening the strange high compulsion brought. “…maybe I just like experience. Authority. The way grey hair and wrinkles look. It gives you character, you know? Makes you look like you’ve seen things.”

Jon still suddenly, and took a shaky breath. “I’ve certainly done that,” he said with a rueful laugh, tinged with just a hint of bitterness that made Martin’s heart ache. He coughed, adding in a stronger voice, “Because I’m Father Christmas.”

“And you see everything,” Martin supplied helpfully, a bit breathless now that the force of the compulsion had left him.

“Yes. And I’ll have you exactly how I want, knowing this is where you want to be. That you belong here, over my knee. Whispering all your mistakes and desires and dirty secrets to me and me alone.”

“Yes. Absolute, Jo— Father Christmas.”

Jon thrust the plug back into Martin’s hole, and slowly drew it out again, even as he began to rain blows down more quickly. There were no more questions, but it didn’t seem to matter. Martin felt exposed, vulnerable in a way that was terrible yet freeing all the same. He supposed Christmas could be a time of revelation, and as Jon’s blows and relentless toying with the jingling plug sent wave after wave of arousal through Martin, he concluded this was far better than a series of ghosts. Even if it would be funny to see Jon try to play all three parts.

But the thoughts of Christmas future were quickly driven from his mind as Martin squirmed with increasing desperation in Jon’s lap. They’d run through a couple options here, whether Martin came or not, since rehearsals had varied on whether he could keep it together. But in the end, he’d swore he could and now—Christ, now it was going to be too much.

“Father Christmas, I—I think that I—” He groaned as Jon pulled the plug nearly all the way free, before thrusting it quickly in again, and landing another smack.

“We’re not done yet,” Jon said, his voice dark with warning. “You’ve been so very, very bad.”

“Fuck,” Martin said, struggling against a wave of instinctive shame as he came, spurting onto Jon’s lap while the blows contined. Though part of Martin delighted in it, eager to see, to feel what Jon would do next. To let Jon have him however he saw fit, unwrapping him like a present until only naked need remained.

When Martin sagged against Jon, arse smarting and cock spent, the blows stopped. Jon toyed with the bells for a moment, ringing across Martin’s blissfully empty mind, before he spoke again.

“It seems you aren’t suited even for this. I guess I’ll have to find another use for you after all.”

“Up,” Jon said, giving Martin’s arse a slap. “First, clean up your mess.”

Martin awkwardly pushed himself up until he was on his hands and knees next to Jon, his eyes drifting to Jon’s lap, then back to his face. “Isn’t red and white traditional?”

He was rewarded with a smack across his cheek, his eyes fluttering even as he tried to collect himself, waiting to see if Jon felt the remark deserved further punishment. Jon’s eyes narrowed, and then three more slaps to his cheeks followed, making Martin shudder as the skin on his face stung wonderfully.

“I hope that’s sufficient encouragement,” Jon said, gripping Martin’s hair and dragging his face down. “Now lick.”

When Martin again pretended to hesitate, Jon forced his face down the remaining few inches, rubbing it in the come. When he let Martin go, Martin’s eyes fluttered shut, and he lapped at the remaining mess eagerly, making sure to graze Jon’s cock through the fabric as he did, smiling when Jon jerked in response and grabbed his hair again.

“None of that. You haven’t proved you’re worthy of that level of responsibility, to dictate how, ah.” Jon coughed, and Martin smothered a laugh. “How the, uh, the sacred Christmas…scepter…is, uh. Handled.”

Martin resisted the urge to pull free and give Jon a congratulatory kiss for getting that line out. Or well, mostly getting it out. He’d really struggled with ad-libbing some of this stuff, and really, he was getting so much better even with the lines he hadn’t thoroughly practiced. But instead, he decided to show Jon his appreciation by finishing the task as directed.

It wasn’t easy, cleaning off the silky red fabric, and not entirely pleasant. But none of that mattered, because Jon’s fingers found his hair again, this time not to tug but instead petting the sweat damp strands. The feeling was one that made Martin linger, until the fabric was damp and clean and he was suffused with an odd satisfaction. When he finally sat back, the warmth intensified when he saw the twinkle in Jon’s dark eyes.

“Very good.” He placed a kiss on the top of Martin’s head. “More evidence you might yet redeem yourself. Now, out into the snow.” He gave Martin a little shove of encouragement, and watched as Martin twisted around on the sofa and shakily got to his feet.

The ‘snow’ was only a few feet away, in reality just a plush duvet in a white cover, with some pillows scattered on it for terrain and a handful of artificial Christmas trees along the sides. Jon had spent all morning perfecting it, muttering to himself as he crawled around on the floor, bluntly refusing Martin’s offer of help. It was only shortly before Martin left to get ready that Jon pronounced himself satisfied with it.

Right now, Martin was really hoping the pillows would be enough to blunt his fall, because shuffling forward with the leggings around his ankles while still drifting in a post orgasm haze was proving unexpectedly difficult. Behind him, he heard Jon get to his feet, but he didn’t tell Martin to remove the leggings, nor did he offer his help.

Or at least not in the way Martin wanted it. As Martin stopped at the edge of the ‘snow’ and looked down dubiously at it, a sharp, sudden pain bloomed on his arse. Before he could say anything, it happened again, a thwack echoing through the air, in harmony with the jingling of the plug and Martin’s cry of pain.

“Get moving,” Jon said in a low voice that somehow managed to make Martin’s cock twitch, despite being far too soon. “Or I’ll have to encourage you further.”

“No need,” Martin said, glancing back at Jon.

Despite his words, Jon clearly took this as an act of defiance, whipping the belt against Martin’s stinging arse again. Martin dropped to his knees, crying out as Jon did it a fourth time, then a fifth as Martin crawled forward a bit too slowly, before finally stopping and allowing Martin to catch his breath.

“Good. Now we can get on our way.”

Martin kept his eyes on the duvet as he heard Jon kneel next to him, running a hand down Martin’s leg like he was checking him for defects. Which was the point, of course, one punctuated by Jon tapping his thigh with the belt.

“You’re sturdy enough. Let’s put that muscle to some use.” His hand found Martin’s feet, pulling off the elf slippers and yanking the leggings off.

“You couldn’t have done that before?” Martin muttered, only to be met with another sharp lash of the belt across his thigh.

“No. I didn’t want you freed until you were properly reined in. Which I’ll see to now. Though.” Martin heard a rustle as Jon shifted, and dared a glance at him. He was watching Martin with a rather pensive look. “Reindeer don’t really need clothes, do they?”

“I—” Christ, he was going through with it, then? Jon had debated about this endlessly, something about whether it made sense for his character, given how impractical making an elf into a reindeer was. Though he’d seemed to take it to heart when Martin pointed out Father Christmas often had a bit of whimsy to him. Apparently, that was enough for Jon. “I suppose not.”

He set back again and pulled off the tunic as quickly as he could, before returning to his former position, trying to force himself to breathe slowly and remain calm in the face of building anticipation.

Still, he couldn’t help but try and get a look out of the corner of his eye, and he was surprised to see Jon pull a box out from under the duvet. He gave it a rather theatrical shake which made a muffled jingle, then said, “Though reindeer do have their own particular adornments, don’t they?”

Flipping back the lid, he pulled out a leather collar decked out with bells that made Martin’s throat tighten. Apparently he wasn’t the only one trying for a bit of surprise, and what a surprise this was. He supposed it fit, so perfectly he didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it himself.

“Lift your head,” Jon said softly, fingers brushing the back of Martin’s neck. “So I can show just how thoroughly you belong to me.”

Their eyes met as Martin lifted his head. Jon hesitated, clearly waiting for Martin’s reaction. His genuine reaction. Martin let his smile spread bright across his face, and gave Jon a small nod.

“Always,” he said.

Jon’s hands trembled slightly as he fastened the collar around Martin’s neck.

His fingers lingered for a moment, thumbing where the leather met skin. Then he sat back, and schooled his face back into a stern expressing.

“And now for the reins.” He held up a rather dubious looking contraption in his hands.

Martin knew you could buy something for this, or at least construct something better. But Jon had come up with this bit early, and gotten rather attached to his slapdash prop. It was a spoon, tied to the buckles of two belts with a mess of string. Ridiculous as it looked, Martin couldn’t suppress a delighted shiver as Jon pressed the spoon into his mouth, across his tongue, and laid the belts on his back. Then he moved behind Martin, spreading his legs and adjusting his position so Jon could kneel at the right height between them.

Between his legs, Martin could feel his cock stirring with renewed interest, right on time. He let his eyes slip shut, listening to the sound of Jon opening the bottle of lube and presumably coating his cock. Then he heard an increasingly familiar jingling, and felt a tug on his hole as Jon began to work the plug free.

This time, he was more careful, which Martin was deeply grateful for given his sore muscles and the decreasing effectiveness of the lube he’d used to insert it. But it also drew out the sensation, the burning Martin welcomed as his hole stretched. Until the plug came free, leaving Martin empty and aching, longing to be filled again.

But he didn’t have to wait long. Jon pushed his cock in immediately, warmer and longer than the plug though not as thick. Exactly what Martin wanted and needed right now. He groaned around the makeshift bit, holding himself still as Jon picked up the makeshift reins and slapped them lightly against Martin’s back.

“On Dasher,” Jon said.

Martin pushed back weakly into him, a teasing slide along his cock. Jon gave another smack of the reins against Martin’s back, and this time Martin moved quickly against him, jarring Jon as he lurched and gripped Martin’s thigh for balance.

“Not like that.” Jon yanked on the reins hard, and the spoon fell from Martin’s mouth and onto the duvet. 

He blinked at it for a moment, but then he supposed it wasn’t exactly a sturdy construction, and they hadn’t tested using it like this. Jon slipped free of his hole with a sigh, and the belts fell to either side of Martin.

“Well, I supposed I should’ve expected that,” Jon said, sounding far more disappointed than Martin expected. His teeth dug into his lips, and he racked his brain for some sort of response.

“Yes, I—I am always breaking things, aren’t I?” Martin said, voice cracking. He cleared his throat, and pushed on. “Which is why you should break me. To—to riding bareback?” He shook his head and let his collar jingle in a hopeful simulation of an unruly elf-as-reindeer, and waited for Jon’s response.

For a moment, there was silence. Then he saw one of the belts slip out of his line of sight, and felt hands on his arse, the belt pressing into the skin as Jon spread him and pushed inside again.

“Yes. That sounds like exactly what you need. And maybe if you perform in a way that pleases me, I’ll reward you yet.” He tapped Martin’s thigh with the end of the belt, which he must’ve curled around his hand. Like this, it wouldn’t actually hurt, but it got the meaning across well enough. “I want you to take me on a ride through this forest. And then we’ll see about your own hungers.”

“Right. I— Ah.”

Jon brought down his hand hard on Martin’s arse, inflaming the still smarting skin and making Martin clench down hard on Jon’s cock.

“Reindeer don’t speak do they?”

“No. I’ll just…jingle all the way?” He shook his head suggestively, making the collar ring out as Jon groaned.

“Please do that. And only that. Now, let’s begin.”

This was something they’d discussed before, and tested out a time or two with mixed results. But now in the middle of the theatre of it all, Martin found his excitement building again. Jon tapped his thigh lightly, slowly, and Martin obeyed, pushing his body back against Jon in slow, short movements. When he sped up, Martin followed that as well, his breath becoming increasingly labored as he rammed back into Jon. All while Jon gripped his waist hard with one hand, and kept up the tapping with the other.

More than once, Martin was tempted to make some remark about doing all the work, but they were past that point. Now he was supposed to obey, be exactly what Jon wanted as his collar jingled merrily and his aching muscles forced him onto Jon’s cock again and again. All through it his own cock throbbed, untouched and waiting for the reward he knew would come, if only he did perfectly. Showing Jon he could be the perfect assistant, the ideal elf or reindeer or whatever else Jon desired.

When Jon slowed his tapping again, Martin let out a pitiful groan, his body on fire with need, his hole aching with each slow drag of Jon’s cock on the rim. Jon’s hand left Martin’s waist, and he slipped two fingers in next to his cock, stretching Martin even further.

“Maybe I won’t need a sack this year. Maybe this is what you’re made for, to hold everything I need. Pulling them out only when I require it.” Another finger joined the first to, even as Martin continued to push back into fingers and cock, whimpering at the increasing stretch. “I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Fuck, would he like that. He wasn’t even sure what that was supposed to mean, but Jon could put whatever he wanted in Martin, however dangerous or unlikely. An idea he knew would be far less appealing when his mind was a bit less hormone addled. But he was happy to indulge in the fantasy now, and tuck away the more reasonable version for later.

“Faster,” Jon said, sounding gratifyingly breathless as he stopped with the tapping to grip Martin’s thigh with that hand, leaving his fingers inserted alongside his cock as Martin sped up again. His own cock throbbed, and he knew if he wasn’t careful he’d come from just this. But he didn’t want to. He wanted—needed—Jon’s promised reward. So he _would_ be good for him.

As he continued his frantic, erratic movements, the hand on Martin’s thigh trailed up his body and found the collar on Martin’s neck, gripping it hard. Jon yanked Martin’s head back as Martin moaned pitifully, the jingle clanging in his ears. He clenched down hard around Jon’s fingers, barely moving anymore, but Jon didn’t seem to mind, his own hips stuttering as he clearly neared the edge. Toppling over it, he collapsed against Martin’s back, filling him as he pressed desperate kisses to Martin’s spine.

They remained like that for a bit, Martin’s muscles burning as he held them both up and waited for Jon to recover. He could do this, even if he needed to rest, needed to relieve the aching need in his cock. But he didn’t have to wait too long for Jon to push himself up with a groan, fumbling for something as he pulled free.

Before Martin could ask what it was or get used to the sensation of his hole no longer being stretched, he felt the plug pushed home again. It didn’t feel as large as before, but it was still enough to keep him satisfied.

“Hold it in for me. You’ve proven yourself worthy of my…”

“…your sacred treasure?” Martin said. Which sounded ridiculous, but if either of them cared about dignity they wouldn’t have gotten this far. And it certainly wasn’t any worse than Jon’s ad-libs.

“Yes. That.” He coughed lightly, and ran a hand down the inside of Martin’s trembling thigh. “Now lie on your back so I can give you your reward.”

Martin couldn’t obey quickly enough, not just to get what Jon promised, but also to rest his aching limbs on the mess of pillows and duvet. He smiled lazily at Jon, who was kneeling between his legs, his rather red dressing gown in complete disarray and the holly crown nowhere to be seen.

“Wild ride?” Martin said.

“Something like that,” Jon said with a chuckle, shifting his position so he was sprawling on his stomach and propped up on his elbows, his face tantalizing close to Martin’s cock. “But I’ll let you in on a secret: the best reindeer are the wild ones. As are the best elves.”

He rubbed his beard against the inside of Martin’s thigh, his eyes locked with Martin’s as he moved his face up towards Martin’s groin, and pressed his cheek lightly to Martin’s balls.

“Oh, fuck.” Martin fisted his hands in the duvet, trying to remain still as Jon indulged his rather unexpectedly divulged fantasy from before. Maybe evil powers weren’t so bad after all, at least in very specific situations. That was probably the hormones talking too, but Martin didn’t really care as Jon wiggled closer, and lifted his head to rub his beard against Martin’s cock.

“You’re amazing, you know?” Martin said, forcing himself to keep his eyes open so he could watch.

Jon glanced at Martin as his collar jingled, stirred by his movement as he propped himself up on his elbows.

“Just want to see the master at work,” Martin added.

“I’ll try to give you a good show, Elf,” Jon said, and Martin shivered at the acknowledgment he’d earned his place.

Even as close to the edge as Martin was, Jon drew it out longer. He pulled back from Martin’s cock to nip at the sensitive skin on his inner thigh, and then rub the rough beard against the bite. Again and again, up one thigh and down the other, all while neglecting Martin’s cock and leaving him caught in a fevered ocean of sensation.

He didn’t want it to end, much as he desperately needed Jon to give him his promised release. But when Jon nipped at the skin next to his cock and lifted his head again, Martin already knew what he was going to ask. And how Martin was going to answer.

“What are the magic words?” Jon asked.

“Happy Christmas.”

“Perfect.” Jon adjusted his position again so he was partially lying on Martin, pressing a palm against one side of Martin’s cock so he could push his cheek to the other. Rubbing his face along it as Martin whimpered and squirmed, his breathy moans increasing when Jon gripped his cock, angling it just right to rub the underside of the head against his bristled cheek.

It was too much, all of it, sending Martin tumbling over the edge, coming on Jon’s face while Jon kept him pressed firmly where he was, letting his face get coated in Martin’s come.

Martin collapsed against the duvet, letting out a final, tired jingle. When he felt Jon shift again, moving up to lie draped over Martin, he opened his eyes and smiled up at him.

“You’ve got snow on your face.”

“Maybe you should help me clean it off, like a good elf would.” Jon cupped Martin’s cheek, pressing a messy kiss to it. “And I know you’re a very good elf.”

Martin began to lick and kiss Jon’s face, savoring each drop of his own come and the salty taste of Jon’s skin. And most of all, the blissful look on Jon’s face as he let Martin lavish him with attention, his head dropping to Martin’s chest when Martin finished.

“All in a good day’s work,” Martin said, running his fingers through Jon’s hair.

“And scene,” Jon agreed, burying his face in the crook of Martin’s neck, and nuzzling the bells. “You know, you can take this off now. That jingling is going to get annoying.”

The hand in Jon’s hair stilled, and with his other hand, Martin toyed with one of the bells.

“Maybe I should keep it. As a reminder.”

Jon lifted his head, raising his eyebrows at Martin. “Seriously? I’m not joking about the bells. If you wear it to bed, you’re sleeping on the sofa.”

Martin’s fingers tightened around one bell, and with a firm tug he yanked it free, tossing it away and watching it roll under the kitchen table.

“I’ll get rid of the bells. I want to keep the collar. I want to…” He flushed, turning his head away from Jon. Why was this, of all things, what finally got to him? “Christmas is only once a year. But I always belong to you.”

A hand cupped his cheek, turning his face back to Jon, where he was met with a kiss.

“Oh, Martin.” Jon gripped another bell and yanked it free. “I suppose that—” He coughed awkwardly. “I’m not adverse to that. And I have to ask, did you, you know, enjoy it? I know I got a bit carried away with things, rehearsals and all…”

“Jon.” Martin put a finger along his lips, stopping his babbling. “It was the best Christmas present I’ve ever had. And all the better for your enthusiasm.”

Jon’s laugh vibrated against Martin’s chest, as he laid his head down again.

“Maybe next year, we can do A Christmas Carol?”

Martin laughed, and laughed again for the sheer joy of it. Maybe having the spirit of Christmas inside him really was working its own magic.

“We’ll see.”


End file.
